Betrayals
by GhostWriter25
Summary: Trip and Archer become harmfully, both mentally and physically, intolerant toward one another after a visit to a planet. **REVISED (11/16) CHAPTER 7--COMPLETE** NOTE: Chapter 4 Rated R for violence,
1. Default Chapter

DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns the rights to all things in the universe of Star Trek. No monetary gains will come from my borrowing the Enterprise branch for this short jaunt.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a "teaser", so it is intended to be short. No, this is not an AU, and there is a good explanation for the behaviors of both Archer and Trip. So, keep that in mind and enjoy!  
  
  
"BETRAYALS"  
  
Chapter 1-  
  
"I don't expect any of you will have a problem with pulling double duty so we can get these repairs for Davanj and his people completed." Captain Jonathan Archer said, presiding over the briefing in the situation room.   
  
All of the senior bridge crew were present and nodded or reverently answered verbally affirmatively to their captain's remark. All except Commander Charles "Trip" Tucker III, who just pursed his lips and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.  
  
"Commander, is there a problem?" Archer firmly directed toward Tucker.  
  
"That atmospheric regulator is bein' held together by duct tape an' chewin' gum." Tucker said. "Not to mention it's a little more advanced than what we're used to. Pullin' double duty isn't gonna do any good, least of all for my crew. Do ya really think that's such a good idea?"  
  
Archer looked as if he was mustering all he could to control himself. He leaned on the table in front of him and looked Tucker square in the eyes. "That's what I just said, isn't it?"  
  
"Yes, sir, but..." Tucker started.  
  
"But nothing." Archer clenched his jaw.  
  
"Whatever." Tucker mumbled breathily.  
  
"You all have your orders. Commander, my ready room. Now." Archer turned and heavily walked away.  
  
Tucker looked after Archer as if he was equally as disgusted with the captain. As the others exchanged uneasy glances and moved off, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed moved next to Tucker.  
  
"You better get going." Reed suggested. "You asked for this, you know?"  
  
Tucker just waved a hand at the armory officer as if it was no big deal and followed after the captain.  
  
----------  
  
Archer was standing in the middle of the room, with his back to the door, when Tucker entered and stopped within a few feet from the captain.  
  
"I think you're getting a little too mouthy in front of the crew, Commander." Archer said.  
  
Tucker was about to respond when Archer wheeled around and slapped, backhanded, Tucker across the left cheek. Trip's head snapped back up quickly as he stared, wide-eyed, at Archer in utter disbelief.  
  
Archer was glaring back at Tucker with raw anger, his breathing pronounced with his shoulders rising and falling.   
  
"I don't ever want to hear you speak to me that way again in front of the crew, or not. Is that understood?" Archer advanced further, cutting the space between the two men down to mere inches.  
  
Trip stared up at Jonathan Archer unable to breathe. He and Jon had been edgey since they left the planet's surface the previous night, after dinner with Davanj and his family. Both had been less than tolerant of the other, but this was way over the top.  
  
Jon was livid. How could he have ever allowed Trip to be so flippant around the crew? He should've nipped this in the bud a long time ago. Now, since it had gone this far, it was time for drastic measures. Archer raised his hand again and slapped Trip, open-handed this time, so hard the younger man staggered sideways.  
  
"I didn't hear you, Commander. Did you not understand me?" Archer asked evenly.  
  
Trip swallowed hard and remained looking down at the floor. "N--no, sir."  
  
"Look at me." Archer's tone was as if he was talking to a five year old. "Then did I make myself clear?"  
  
Trip's head quickly came up to look at his captain. "Yes, sir."  
  
Archer walked to the comm panel and pushed the button. "Archer to the bridge."  
  
"Bridge here, Captain." T'Pol's voice said.  
  
"Commander Tucker is relieved of his duties for the rest of the day and confined to his quarters until 0800 hours tomorrow. Is that understood?" Archer told her.  
  
There was a very uneasy pause.   
  
"Yes, sir." T'Pol answered.  
  
Archer turned back toward Tucker. "Dismissed."  
  
Trip slowly turned toward the door and stopped in front of it. He squared his shoulders trying to gather his composure before having to walk across the bridge to the turbolift. He took a deep breath and pushed the button.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED  
  
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	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2-  
  
As soon as the door to his quarters closed, he stripped off his uniform and headed for the bathroom. Trip stood at the sink in his Starfleet issue blue tank top and briefs staring at his reflection in the mirror. The red mark on his cheek was still clearly visible and he could see the faint imprint of the fingers of an open hand. Jon's hand.  
  
He shook off the memory and turned the faucet on. He filled his cupped hands with the cold water and flinched as his hand brushed across his cheekbone. Gingerly he fingered the spot, quite certain there would be a bruise of some sort by morning.  
  
His door chime sounded and he turned off the water, grabbing a towel to pat his face. He walked out into his living area and stopped a few feet from the door.   
  
"Commander, it's Lieutenant Reed." Malcolm's voice called out from the corridor.  
  
"Go away." Trip called back. "My time out's not up yet and ya wouldn't wanna to get in trouble  
for fraternizin' with the 'bad boy'."  
  
"Let me in, Trip. Please?" Malcolm's muffled voice said in a loud whisper.  
  
"Suit yourself." Trip said, tossing the towel onto the bathroom floor from where he stood.  
  
Trip thought quickly, lowering the lights and then pushing the panel to unlock the door. He took a running leap and laid down on his bed. The door opened and Malcolm entered.  
  
"What in the hell got into you?" Malcolm assaulted.  
  
"Me?" Trip asked.  
  
"Yes, you." Malcolm reaffirmed, pulling out the desk chair and sitting down. "Mumbling under your breath like a sulking little kid. Talking back to the Captain. It was bloody well embarrassing."  
  
"Come on, Malcolm. So, I'm a smart aleck. Is that really news?"  
  
"So you are, but not like this." Malcolm shifted in his seat. "You've been acting this way all day now. And the captain's been out of sorts as well. You two not getting on?"  
  
"I'll say." Trip folded his hands behind his head.  
  
"I guess so if the captain relieved you of duty when these repairs are so critical."   
  
"Aw, Lieutenant Hess is more than capable of handlin' things." Trip shrugged off. "Besides, workin' day and night on that regulator isn't gonna get it up and ready before 0300. That's when the next electrical storm's suppose to hit."  
  
"At least we can try." Malcolm said, leaning closer towards Trip and squinting in the dim light. Trip glanced over and then turned his face away quickly. "What happened to your face?" Malcolm asked.  
  
"I, uh, ran into the door." Trip fingered his cheek now.  
  
Malcolm, not really believing that, got up and walked over to the bedside. He sat down, leaning over to get a better look. Trip slowly turned to face him.   
  
"A door with fingers?" Malcolm's eyes widened as the realization dawned on him.  
  
"Look, Malcolm, you're right. I went too far. Guess I asked for it." Trip turned his head away again.  
  
"Good Lord, man, there's no excuse for that. What happened?"  
  
"He said I was gettin' too mouthy in front of the crew. And he punctuated his point."   
  
Malcolm rose from the bed and moved towards the comm panel. Trip sat up quickly.  
  
"What're ya doin'?" Trip asked.  
  
"I'm going to contact the captain." Malcolm told him.  
  
"You can't do that!" Trip protested.  
  
"I sure as hell can! Captain or no captain, he assaulted you; a member of this crew that I, as security officer, am here to protect!"  
  
"No!" Trip yelled at him. "It's my fault. I pushed his buttons one too many times."  
  
"Trip, this is not acceptable behavior."  
  
"Please, Malcolm? I'll take care of it when he's calmed down. Promise me you won't say anythin'?" Trip pleaded.  
  
Malcolm reluctantly returned to sit in the chair. He shook his head. "All right, but you better know what you're doing."  
  
"I do. I've known him longer than anyone aboard this ship."  
  
"And has he ever struck you before?"   
  
"No. Never." Trip laid back down. "It was like he hated me. His eyes were so, cold. I froze. I couldn't even answer him 'bout not disrespectin' him in front of the crew anymore. That's when he hauled off and hit me again."  
  
"He hit you twice?!" Malcolm exclaimed, half rising from the chair.  
  
"Malcolm," Trip warned. "You promised."  
  
"That was before I knew he hit you twice." Malcolm leaned back in the chair, wringing his hands. "Trip, this is not the Captain Jonathan Archer I've come to know. And I doubt you either."  
  
"Naw." Trip shook his head, his eyes glistening in the dim light. "But I really think it's me."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I think he's regrettin' havin' me aboard. I am pretty tryin' at times." Trip answered.  
  
"Did you ever talk to him about it?"   
  
"No. Now if I do, I'll end up gettin' kicked off the ship and sent back home. I don't want to go home, Malcolm. But I think he's lookin' for a reason to do just that."  
  
"You've got to be wrong." Malcolm couldn't believe this was true.  
  
Trip sniffed back the tears that were brimming his eyes. "I don't think so. It's what he's really feelin' comin' out. Just like me."  
  
"I don't understand." Malcolm told him.  
  
"That damn inhibition blocker." Trip mumbled. "Davanj said it would only last a couple of hours."  
  
"Maybe you better start from the beginning." Malcolm said, getting back up and moving to sit on the bed again.  
  
Trip wiped his eyes with his arm, one quick swipe and stared up at the ceiling.   
  
"We were havin' dinner and Davanj's youngest daughter prepared this celebratory punch." Trip began. "I guess she didn't remember that they're suppose to leave out one of the main ingredients when they serve it to guests. It's some spice that acts as an inhibition blocker. Well, not to them, but it's been known to do that to alien visitors in the past. We didn't know about it 'til we'd killed two thirds of the pitcher."  
  
"How lovely."   
  
"Yeah," Trip shook his head. "The cap'n and I decided not to make a big deal outta it. We'd be goin' to bed shortly after we got back from dinner and figured it'd wear off by mornin'. Guess it didn't. I mean I woke up feelin' okay until I got around him. He just rubs me the wrong way. I feel like he's no better than me and why should he be runnin' the show here? All his ideas and decisions seem lame to me."  
  
"Oh, come on." Malcolm said. "You can't tell me you really, deep down inside, feel that way."  
  
"I must!" Trip argued. "What else could it be? And that means deep down inside...he really hates me."  
  
"I don't know, Trip." Malcolm was skeptical. "Maybe we ought to contact Davanj and find out more about this spice and its affects."  
  
"What good would that do?" Trip asked. "Truth's the truth."  
  
"Maybe Doctor Phlox can counteract it." Malcolm tried to lessen the heaviness within Trip.  
  
"Again," Trip stared at Malcolm, his eyes misting over again. "What good would that do? What's done it done. Can't change it."  
  
"So, you're telling me to butt out?"   
  
Trip turned his head away now. "I 'ppreciate what you're tryin' to do, Malcolm. I do. But just let me deal with this on my own. 'kay?"  
  
Malcolm slowly rose and walked to the door. He turned back and looked at his friend.  
  
"I'm sorry about what happened, Trip. But I think there's got to be an explanation other than what you believe. I won't say anything to anyone, for now. I'll see you in the morning."  
  
When the door closed and Malcolm had gone, Trip curled up in a ball on his side. He grabbed the blankets and gathered them up tightly under his chin. He couldn't help but feel what he was feeling inside. He didn't want to believe it. But he was sure, at this moment, that he was hating Jonathan Archer as much as he believed the captain loathed him.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED  
  
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	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3-  
  
"I'm sorry, Davanj." Archer told the image of the alien on his computer screen. "We tried, but it's just going to take more time. I've called my repair team back, but they'll return after the storm's past."  
  
"I thank you for your efforts." Davanj said. "We have at least three hours to take shelter. Will you send us the storm tracker information you have gathered thus far?"  
  
"Yes, I'll do that personally right away." Archer told him. "Good luck. Contact us first chance you get in the morning."  
  
"Thank you again, Captain." Davanj's image disappeared from the screen.  
  
Archer rose from his chair, tired and troubled. He stared at his hands for what must have been the hundredth time that evening. He kept playing the moment over and over in his head and it still sent a chill up and down his spine. He had hit Trip not once, but twice. Never in his most craziest thoughts would he ever have believed that would happen.  
  
Yet, Trip had crossed the line. He had shown the utmost disrespect at the briefing that day. But then hadn't he, Captain Jonathan Archer, crossed a line himself? He suddenly remembered he had to get that information to Davanj before they took cover from the storm. He quickly headed out of his quarters.  
  
----------  
  
Trip tossed and turned on the bed. He couldn't get to sleep. All he kept thinking about was the look in Jon's eyes after each time he had slapped him. Damn! He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed and stared around his room. He wanted to go to the mess and see if there was anything left in the serving compartments, but he couldn't.  
  
Running his hands through his short cropped hair, Trip Tucker got up from the bed and went to sit at his desk. He punched the buttons on his computer. Maybe he could go over the updated reports on the repair team's progress of the atmospehric regulator. He entered his access code to main engineering's logs, but the words "ACCESS DENIED" flashed across the screen.   
  
"What the..." Trip mumbled out loud. "Why?"  
  
He entered the quarry he muttered out loud and the computer displayed, "USER ALREADY LOGGED ON". Trip frowned at the screen. Someone had accessed the engineering logs using his code. That was really unnerving. He then punched in to inquiry as to where the login came from. The computer then displayed, "MAIN ENGINEERING".  
  
Trip knew it couldn't be Hess. She had her own authorization codes that allowed her almost as much access as his. Why would someone want his access? He bit his lower lip and jumped up, heading for the clothes closet and grabbing a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt.  
  
Once he was dressed, Trip Tucker pushed the button on his door panel and it slid open. He poked his head out into the hall, looking left and right cautiously. Then, he bolted from the room rushing down the hall.  
  
----------  
  
Malcolm Reed sat in the mess eating a midnight snack. He had found his visit to Trip's quarters too disturbing to pass off. He could never; would never, believe that the captain had grown to feel anything less than friendship for the commander. And to think that Trip, who he knew looked up to Archer, felt the captain was not the best person for the job of commanding Enterprise? Never.  
  
So, this spice Trip talked about sounded bizarre. An inhibitor blocker. How could Davanj know how it would react on other alien visitors. Just because it had that reaction on some, didn't mean that humans were going to react the same. Suppose it had another adverse effect? That would certainly account for Captain Archer striking his chief engineer and best friend in anger. But what other effect?  
  
He wouldn't go back on his word to Trip, but Malcolm decided keeping mum about this was not in anyone's best interest; least of all Trip and the captain's. After discarding his tray and leftovers, he hurried out of the mess and headed for Trip's quarters.  
  
----------  
  
Trip stealthily crept down the corridor towards engineering. Periodically turning around to make sure no one was behind him. The last thing he needed was for someone to see him going against the captain's orders. He shook his head. Confined to his quarters for talking back. Now that was excessive.   
  
He grabbed the handle and released the door to engineering, peeking his head in and around the door. His heart leapt into his throat as he saw the captain sitting at his station. Archer started to look towards him just as he was pulling his head back into the corridor. He heard the chair creak and froze.  
  
"Stand your ground, Trip." Archer's voice said evenly.  
  
Trip inhaled deeply and leaned his head on the open door. Archer's boot heels could be heard on the deck plating, slowly making their way towards him. Trip jumped as the door was yanked right out of his hand.  
  
"Let's hear it, Commander." Archer said, standing before him and folding his arms.  
  
"I'm sorry, sir." Trip apologized, still well aware of the respect he needed to show this man. "I wanted to go over the latest reports on the repair work down on the surface and I couldn't get in. I just wondered who was usin' my access code and thought I should check it out."  
  
"You could've called Lieutenant Reed." Archer said.  
  
"Yes, sir." Trip hung his head. "I guess I didn't think."  
  
"Give the man a prize." Archer now placed his hands on his hips. "That's exactly it, Commander. A lot of times you don't think before you act or speak and that can result in severe consequences."  
  
Trip was holding back his emotions, mainly the anger that was building at this whole situation. That damned celebratory drink, Jon slapping him, being confined to his quarters and now being caught breaking that order. He looked inside engineering and couldn't see anyone else around. It was early in the morning, so there was a skeleton crew. Just great, he thought. His internal defense mechanism kicked into high gear and, as usual, he spoke without thinking.  
  
"Severe consequences like gettin' slapped 'round by my C.O.?" Trip fired at Archer.  
  
"Oh," The captain shook his head. "That was a consequence, but hardly severe."  
  
"Cap'n," Trip sighed. "Maybe I better just get back to my quarters."  
  
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Archer asked, moving to lean on the opened door. "But that'd be favoritism. Can't let you off the hook, Trip."  
  
"I said I was worried somethin' was wrong down here..." Trip's nervousness was escalating.  
  
"I commend your motives, but not your actions." The captain said. "I'm sorry, Trip."  
  
Crewman Kelly was entering from the far side of engineering and saw Captain Archer leaning on the door. She couldn't see who was in the corridor, but she heard muffled voices. Ignoring the voices, as it was none of her concern, she busied herself at another station.  
  
"What happens now?" Trip asked.  
  
"Well, there are two ways I could go." Archer told him. "One, I could call Mr. Reed and have him come down here and throw you in the brig. Or, we could settle this my way. Just between the two of us and it'd never go on your record. And you know what? I'll even let you decide. Take your pick."  
  
Trip stared wide-eyed at the man before him. This was Jonathan Archer who, prior to that fateful dinner with Davanj on the planet, had been his best friend. But he didn't know him at this moment, nor in his ready room the day before. Trip's attention wandered as he caught a glimpse of Crewman Kelly up on the catwalk. She was moving their way, but he wasn't sure she could see him.  
  
Archer began to reach for the comm panel. "I'm waiting."  
  
"Your way." Trip answered quickly.  
  
"Let's take a walk to the gym." The captain said, heading out the door and closing it behind him.  
  
----------  
  
Malcolm Reed pressed the button to Trip's quarters again. He was sure if Trip had been asleep he would've been roused by now. Deciding that this was too important to let go until morning, the lieutenant overrode the lock out and entered.  
  
The room was empty. Trip's bedsheets were rumpled proving he had been asleep or trying to. Malcolm looked over at the desk and saw Trip's computer screen displaying his last inquiry. He walked over, sitting down and began to punch the buttons.  
  
"Oh, Trip." Reed shook his head. "What are you up to now?" He pushed back the chair and rushed out of the room.  
  
----------  
  
Trip entered the gym, followed by Archer. Once inside, the captain pushed the buttons on the panel and locked the door. Upon hearing the click, Trip wheeled around.  
  
"We don't want anyone coming in, do we?" Archer asked. "Then I'd have call Malcolm and..."  
  
Trip watched Archer walk to a cabinet and open the doors. The younger man wondered what the captain had in mind and shifted his weight on his legs.  
  
"So, what're we gonna do?" Trip asked. "Box?"  
  
Archer let out a small laugh. "No. You're the one being punished, Trip. I'm the giver here." He rustled around in the drawers. "You know, I always loved those old British naval movies centered around the 1700's or 1800's. Those captains really had a handle on the discipline. You know me, Trip. I was never one for being that strict. But Malcolm's even said I'm just not running a tight enough ship here. Think he's right."  
  
"I--I think ya do all right." Trip responded. He didn't like where this was going. His mind was flying with thoughts of trying to flee or maybe get to the comm to call Malcolm. He was so hating this man before him, his mind cluttered with resentment.  
  
"Nope." Archer disagreed. "I think you know, most of all, that I let my people off too easy. But...not anymore." He finally turned around and was holding a thin cord about four feet long.   
  
Trip recognized the cord as a binding for the floor mats and watched as Archer wound one end around his hand. The captain stopped when there was about three feet left dangling from his hand. He looked up at Trip now, with a coldness in his eyes far beyond what he saw in the ready room yesterday.  
  
"We can't let anything show." The captain told him. "This is just between us, so it won't go on your record."  
  
"Wh--what're ya gonna do?" Trip found himself moving slightly backwards.  
  
"Take your shirt off, Trip." Archer instructed. "Then come and grab hold of the handles on this exercise bike."  
  
----------  
  
Reed entered engineering and saw Crewman Kelly working up above.   
  
"Have you seen Commander Tucker?" Malcolm called up to her.  
  
"No, sir." She replied. "The only senior officer here tonight was the captain."  
  
"How long ago?"   
  
"He left about a half hour ago." Then she remembered the person she couldn't see in the hall. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir. There was someone he was talking to at the door. They were in the corridor so I couldn't see who it was. But I did overhear the captain say something about the gym."  
  
Reed didn't even have time to thank the crewman. He turned tail and ran out.  
  
----------  
  
"No way!" Trip raised his voice. "You can't be serious."  
  
"Do I call Malcolm, then?" Archer asked.  
  
"Maybe ya should." Trip shot back. "Cuz I think this is gone far enough. You don't deserve this command. You never did. If it weren't for T'Pol, you'd have botched this mission up months ago!"  
  
The captain was at the comm panel now and reaching for the button. Trip, unaware his reasoning was just as marred by the spice effects as Archer's, felt trapped.  
  
"No!" Trip hollered. Archer turned to face him. "Don't call him."  
  
Slowly, Trip reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it up over his head. He dropped it to the floor and trudged over to the exercise bike, where he bent slightly at the waist and grabbed onto the handlebars. He could hear Jonathan Archer move into position behind him and closed his eyes.  
  
"I hate you." Trip growled. Immediately he felt a sharp sting across his shoulder blades.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED  
  
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	4. Chapter 4

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you for your reviews, each one of you.   
  
Chapter 4-  
  
T'Pol turned the corner just as Reed intersected from the other corridor. They fell into step toward the direction of the gym.  
  
"Your call was highly agitated, lieutenant." T'Pol stoically stated. "I do agree that Captain Archer's and Commander Tucker's behaviors toward one another has been out of character for both since their return from the planet."  
  
"You can say that again." Reed sighed.  
  
"You referred to them being under the influence of an alien substance." T'Pol continued, ignoring his remark.  
  
"It wasn't intentional on Davanj's part." Reed stressed. "But it was suppose to block their inhibitions for a few hours. It's done a hell of a lot more than that and for a lengthier period."  
  
"You insinuated that the captain may try to harm Mr. Tucker physically. May I ask why?"  
  
"I'll tell you everything after we find them." Malcolm said, nervously. "I just want to make sure they're both all right."  
  
----------  
  
He grasped the handlebars so tightly his knuckles were white and his forearms were trembling from the pressure. Trip's heart was pounding in his ears, so he couldn't even hear the sound of the cord contacting his bare back anymore. He most certainly felt it, though. Each blow stung worse than the one before and he wasn't sure if it was because the same spots were being hit, or that Jonathan Archer's anger was mounting.  
  
His head was banging with the worst headache he could ever remember having. Jon surmised his blood pressure was the cause. He did not remember ever feeling this angry in his life. Not enough to physically take it out on someone like this. His face was covered in sweat and his body felt as if it was on fire. He kept his eyes fixed on his target. Trip's back was glistening with perspiration, each muscle rippled, clearly defined with spatterings of red marks criss-crossed in between. Welts rose up across the younger man's flesh and his stance wavered slightly with each lash. Twenty should be enough, the captain thought.  
  
Twelve. Trip hung his head waiting for the next one. SNAP! Thirteen. He raised his head now, throwing it back and taking a much needed breath. When was he going to stop? Was he trying to draw blood? This was insanity. SNAP! Fourteen. He felt the tears welling up in his eyes, but refused to let them fall. His throat was parched and the lump that was there threatened to break free and unleash an audible, painful reaction. But he held back. He wouldn't give his attacker that satisfaction.  
  
SNAP! That was fifteen. He's arms were aching and his back was warm and pulsating. He could feel the dampness on his back and wondered if it was only sweat that trickled down to the band of his sweat pants.  
  
----------  
  
Reed tried the panel once more and, again, the gym door did not open. T'Pol watched him noticing his anxiousness rising. He quickly overrode the lockout and the door opened.  
  
T'Pol followed Reed inside the gym. SNAP! Both turned in the direction of the sound and took in the horrific scene. As they both rushed towards the two men, Reed went for the captain and T'Pol made her way to Tucker.  
  
As Archer was tossing his arm back for another strike, Reed reached out and caught the free end of the cord and wrapped it around his hand. With his other hand clasped over his fist that was entwined with the cord, he yanked roughly and sent the captain stumbling backwards.   
  
Archer turned quickly, stunned to see Lieutenant Reed at the other end of the cord. They both stared at the other, heaving breaths of anger, frustration, fear.   
  
"Please, Captain?" Reed's voice was strained with emotions.   
  
Archer seemed to clear his head, shaking it from side to side. He looked down at the cord and then slowly over at Trip. T'Pol was prying the commander's hands from the handlebars and talking to him in a low voice.  
  
Cautiously, Reed was at the captain's side and unraveled the cord from Archer's grasp. He led the captain over to the step to the walking machines and tugged at his arm to sit. Archer complied, in a daze.  
  
"What have I done?" Archer croaked out, staring out into the room.  
  
Trip had sunk to his knees, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. T'Pol knelt next to him.  
  
"I will be right back." T'Pol told Tucker, intending to call sickbay.  
  
"No." Trip's raspy voice moaned out. "Want...ta walk...on my own..."  
  
T'Pol held onto Tucker's upper arm. He was breathing hard and his fingers were clawing at his thighs.  
  
"Close your eyes, Commander." T'Pol spoke in a controlled voice.   
  
Trip hung his head forward and shook it back and forth, fighting the need to cry out or simply to just cry. His eyes were red and he bit his lower lip constantly.  
  
"Close your eyes." T'Pol said with a firmer tone. "Trip," she decided to try. "I know you're trying to harness your emotions. This will help. Close your eyes."  
  
Trip's head rose up and leveled. He closed his eyes, still digging into his legs with his fingers.  
  
"Breathe in deeply, with your mouth closed." T'Pol continued.  
  
Malcolm could hear T'Pol leading Trip into a deep breathing exercise. He was beside himself with the burden of having kept quiet about the incident in the captain's ready room. If he had told T'Pol about this when he wanted to, this never would've happened. He studied the captain's face and saw the man was stunned. Trip had been hurt physically and, no doubt emotionally, by this. But the captain also had been hurt. He could have prevented these harms to both of them. It was his job to protect these people.   
  
"Lieutenant," T'Pol called to Reed. "We need your assistance."  
  
Malcolm rushed over to them and took hold of Trip's other upper arm. Both Reed and T'Pol put their other arms around Trip's waist, careful not to touch his back. Archer just sat, staring with a detached look.  
  
"Captain," Reed addressed him. "Please follow us."  
  
Archer got up, sluggishly and fell in behind the group. He was careful not to make eye contact with Trip's welt ridden back. Instead he fixed his eyes on their feet and noticed how Trip's appeared to be weighted down, moving slowly and heavily. Archer's inner turmoil raged with his feelings of anger and hatred for Trip Tucker, that had surfaced recently, mixed with guilt and remorse for having whipped the younger man so harshly. Jonathan Archer was in a nightmare he wanted to wake up from. He reached over and pinched his arm, hard, twisting the flesh beneath. He felt it. The sensation was there, dull and throbbing. Oh, merciful heaven please forgive me, he thought.   
  
TO BE CONTINUED  
  
---------- 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5-  
  
He winced slightly as he felt Doctor Phlox gently apply the antiseptic gel on his back. Trip was laying face down on the biobed, arms wrapped above his head around the pillow. He stared at the white drape through mist covered eyes.   
  
A few feet away, Reed and T'Pol stood next to another biobed that held Captain Archer. He sat with one leg curled underneath the other and his face pale and drawn.  
  
"The electrical storm is still raging over Davanj's province." T'Pol informed them. "There is no way to contact them. We can only wait until he contacts us once the storm has passed."  
  
"Clearly this isn't an inhibitor blocker." Reed said. "This is something far more altering."  
  
"How do you feel now, Captain?" T'Pol asked.  
  
"It's not as much." Archer said, swallowing to moisten his throat. "The...hate. It's more intense when we're alone."  
  
"Then we need to keep them separated until we can get some other answers from Davanj." Reed told T'Pol.  
  
"Agreed." T'Pol nodded. "Excuse me." She turned and walked to the drape, parting it and entering the space.  
  
"You know what you have to do, Lieutenant." Archer said, straightening up.  
  
"Sir?" Reed frowned at him.  
  
"The brig, Mr. Reed." The captain told him. "You've got to hold me there."  
  
"I most certainly will not." Reed protested. "You're not to blame for what's happened. You both are not responsible for your actions."  
  
Archer gritted his teeth and slammed his fist onto the bed. "It was my hand and my brut force that did that to him!" He pointed toward the drape. "No matter how screwed up my feelings are right now about Commander Tucker, I know what I did is wrong now!"  
  
"Now, yes! But you didn't then!" Reed argued. "You weren't capable of discerning right from wrong anymore than Commander Tucker was. He allowed you to do this, without calling me or fighting back."  
  
Archer hung his head, now. He was exhausted both physically and emotionally.  
  
---  
  
"How is he?" T'Pol asked the doctor.  
  
"I applied an antibiotic and antiseptic gel. " Phlox told her, while he took off his gloves. "There was some broken skin, so that should take care of any infection. There won't be any scarring and the welts will disappear within a few days."  
  
"What about the affects of the alien spice?" T'Pol inquired.  
  
"There is no scan I've taken that reveals anything chemical in their bloodstreams." Phlox told her. "It is possible that it only attacks the brain's receptors to emotional responses. But I'd have to do more extensive testing."  
  
"How are you feeling now, Commander?" T'Pol looked down at Tucker, who stared past her.  
  
Trip heard her. Heard everything the doctor and she had said. But he didn't understand any of it. All he understood right now was that Jon had hurt him very badly. The pain he was feeling inside was almost more unbearable than the pain from the whipping. The whipping Jon had given him. He closed his eyes, fighting back those damn tears.  
  
"We need to make sure they are separated, Doctor." T'Pol turned her attention back to the physician. "Does he have to stay here?"  
  
"No," Phlox said. "He can, if you like."  
  
"That won't be necessary. He can remain in his quarters. The captain will be under watch."  
T'Pol told him.  
  
She turned and left the area. Trip could hear her voice talking to Malcolm and the captain. After a few minutes, he heard Archer hop off the bed and his footsteps move closer. He buried his face in the pillow, his hands balling into fists.  
  
Phlox noticed Trip's reaction as the captain walked past his bed on the other side of the drape. T'Pol walked with Archer and they exited sickbay. Reed pushed back the drape and entered.  
  
"Can he go?" Reed asked the doctor.  
  
"Yes," Phlox replied. "But he needs to be put to bed right away. He's been through a very strenuous ordeal."  
  
"I'll see to it." Reed assured the doctor.   
  
Phlox nodded and left the two alone. Malcolm moved closer and leaned down towards Trip's head.  
  
"You ready?" Malcolm asked.  
  
"I hate him, Malcolm." Trip's voice quivered.  
  
Malcolm closed his eyes and held back his emotions. "No you don't."   
  
"Don't I have the right to?" Trip fired back.  
  
"I don't know." Malcolm sighed. "I don't know what either of you have the right to feel about the other since that dinner with Davanj. Come on. Let's get you to bed."  
  
Trip raised his head and then tried to push up from the pillow, but he grimaced and stopped. Malcolm grabbed him under both arms.  
  
"Let me do most of it." Malcolm told him.  
  
Trip pushed up a little, but felt Malcolm's strong grip pull him up. He swung his legs over the side and hopped off the bed. Malcolm put his hand around Trip's waist, like before, and held onto his arm.   
  
"Malcolm," Trip said. "Thanks for lookin' out for me."  
  
"It's just my job, Commander." Malcolm said with a twinkle in his eye that only belied that remark.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED  
  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Next chapter will have answers to a lot of your questions. (per the reviews)  
---------- 


	6. Chapter 6

AUTHOR'S NOTE- Alas, real life has taken me away from my writing. Family and work have been high on the demand scale and they come first. Hope you still enjoy and let me know what you think.   
  
CHAPTER 6-  
  
T'Pol stood just inside the doorway, arms folded behind and resting on the small of her back. She watched Archer fumble through the cabinet trying to get Porthos a doggy treat. The canine, sensing the tension, simply cowered in his bed with brown eyes gazing up at his master.  
  
"There you go, buddy." Archer said, bending down and holding out the treat. Porthos nibbled at it hesitantly, then snatched the morsel and gobbled it up. He petted the dog's head and stood at his full height facing T'Pol. "What? No words of Vulcan wisdom?"  
  
"In what area?" T'Pol asked.  
  
Archer let out a forced laugh and sat down on his bed. "The benefits of repressed emotions, perhaps?"  
  
"Captain," T'Pol began to pace. "I don't believe you had...have any control over your actions as a result of your emotions. Not of your own volition, but because of the chemical imbalance in your system."  
  
There was a pause, as the captain leaned back on his pillow. He rested his arm across his eyes. "I know what I did was wrong, only..."  
  
T'Pol sensed there was a confession she would find disturbing forthcoming. She stopped pacing and stood beside the captain's desk.  
  
"I'm listening, Captain." T'Pol assured him. "Not to stand in judgement, but to help you to help us understand."  
  
Archer sighed. "Only I don't feel anything in the way of sympathy for him. I feel remorse for myself for having lost that much control. But I don't feel anything else."  
  
"Clearly you and the commander's feelings towards one another have been greatly altered." T'Pol told him.  
  
"I'm sure you're right." Archer told her. "I mean, I know you're right. I just don't feel it. The hate's too strong."  
  
"Now?" She asked. "Even with being separated from Mr. Tucker?"  
  
"It's still there," was all Archer would say. "And I can't ever remember not feeling this way."  
  
"Perhaps," T'Pol reasoned, "the fact that you are disturbed by these feelings is promising. There will be a guard posted outside your quarters. This is more for your protection, sir..."  
  
"I know, I know." Archer dismissed.   
  
"I will wake you when we hear from Davanj." T'Pol told him. "Good..." She regarded the hour and simply raised her brow. "...morning."   
  
As she left his quarters, Archer could see the guard outside his door. He felt a twinge of embarrassment at the sight. But, again, he felt no empathy for Trip.  
  
----------  
  
Malcolm turned off the bathroom light and came out into the living area. He lowered the lights and turned to look at Trip, lying on his stomach on his bed and breathing softly. Malcolm shook his head. Poor guy, he thought. Trip was so emotionally and physically drained by the events of the past day and night that he was already asleep. Perhaps the good doctor's muscle relaxer helped his friend to reach slumber more easily and quickly. Trip's arms were so tense, and his grip so tight on the handlebars, in the gym that T'Pol had to force his fingers apart.   
  
Malcolm tip-toed to the bed and lifted the blanket up just to Trip's waist. He was careful not to let it contact the other man's bare back. He stood up straight, gazing down at Trip's back which glistened from the doctor's gels and the soft light. Malcolm could see the nasty welts, and a few open cuts, shuddering to think of how it must have felt. To know that Captain Jonathan Archer was doing this to him. This was going to take more than just sobbering up from the chemical they ingested to get past this. It would be a testimony to true friendship, Malcolm thought, if the captain and the commander could make amends with each other after this horrible ordeal.   
  
He turned to leave, pressing the panel and the door opened. The sentry outside nodded and Malcolm reached to shut the lights off completely, then lowered his hand. He took one last, thoughtful look at Trip and thought, perhaps the soft light would be a welcome sight to the commander if he awoke from some nightmarish vision.  
  
----------   
  
As most of the senior bridge crew were taking their posts on the bridge, Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed were absent. T'Pol sat in the command chair and stared straight ahead.  
  
"Good morning, Sub-commander." Ensign Mayweather addressed.  
  
"Good morning," T'Pol replied. "Captain Archer will not be on duty today, nor will Commander Tucker. Lieutenant Reed will be on duty later today..." She was cut off by the turbolift door opening and a refreshed Reed bounding toward his station.  
  
"Good morning, all." Reed said as he took his station.  
  
"Lieutenant," T'Pol started. "I thought we agreed..."  
  
"I'm sorry, Sub-commander," Reed punched the buttons on his console. "I had enough sleep, I assure you."  
  
T'Pol just nodded and turned her attention back to the viewscreen. Ensign Sato looked over at Ensign Mayweather and they both shared a quizzical look. They thought Commander Tucker being relieved of duty and confined to his quarters yesterday was odd. Now he and the captain were not going to be on duty today. What was going on with those two?  
  
"Sub-commander, we are being hailed." Hoshi spoke up. "It's Davanj."  
  
"Put it through to the captain's ready room." T'Pol rose and snapped her head to Reed, who jumped to his feet and followed her.  
  
----------  
  
"I--I am so sorry," Davanj stammered. "If I had any thoughts this would happen again..."  
  
"What would happen again?" T'Pol asked firmly.  
  
"It must have been the spice's effects on the Trelons four winter's ago," Davanj realized. "We did not know that was what caused their violent behaviors. It was only after the second guests reacted with their inhibitions blocked that we thought, perhaps, it might be a reaction. You see, the spice enhances our positive feelings and emotions. So, we assumed the reaction the second visitors had was the only effects."  
  
"What about these Trelons?" Reed asked, impatiently.  
  
"There were two of them." Davanj began. "They were close friends since birth and were here seeking supplies for their ship and crew. We bartered and then had our meal, like we did with your captain and commander, to seal the transaction. They stayed here, on the surface, and by morning they were verbally badgering each other. It escalated to physical violence..." Davanj's face grew dark and sullen.  
  
"Davanj." T'Pol prodded. "What happened?"  
  
"They fought and one of them was killed." Davanj shook his head. "This was over a period of two days, while they gathered their supplies. On the second day, as the surviving one was leaving, he suddenly became wrought with guilt for what he had done. There was no sign of the hate he had had for the other one. He took his own life aboard his shuttle. His ship left, after retrieving their fallen comrades' bodies, and the remaining crew never asked any questions. We had no way of knowing it was our fault."  
  
"Forty-eight hours." T'Pol looked at Reed. "That should be around 1900 hours today."  
  
"Then we need to keep them separated until then." Reed said.  
  
"I am so sorry." Davanj shook his head. "It must be that the spice reacted to reverse the feelings and emotions of the Trelons toward one another."  
  
"Thank you, Davanj. Our repair team will be down there shortly. Enterprise out." T'Pol cut off the communication and Davanj's image disappeard.   
  
"It makes sense now, Sub-commander." Reed nodded. "Commander Tucker's feelings that Captain Archer's decisions were lame and blatantly showing disrespect for him..."  
  
"When the commander truly holds Captain Jonathan Archer in the highest regard." T'Pol continued the thought. "And the captain's intense hatred of Commander Tucker to the point of physically abusing him..."  
  
T'Pol needn't have finished that thought. She and Reed shared a knowing look that the captain cared very deeply for Trip, their brotherly friendship evident whenever they were together. But now, that closeness had been slashed by a perverse reaction to an alien spice and a cord used to bind floor mats in the gym.  
  
----------  
  
The repair team had made great progress in determining the problems with the atmospheric regulator and were well underway with the repairs by dinner time.  
  
Doctor Phlox had looked in on both Captain Archer and Commander Tucker during the day. Both had slept until mid afternoon and appeared to be more concerned for the other's well being as the day progressed. Phlox had informed them of the reverse emotions they had experienced. It was no consolation, however. They fully recalled every event of the past day, yet could not recall the intense negative emotions and feelings they had had for the other. This caused great anguish for them.  
  
T'Pol and Reed had opted to have dinner in the mess together. Once they finished they would go and see the captain and then the commander; T'Pol to the captain and Reed to Tucker.  
  
Trip sat at his desk, finishing his dinner. The door chime sounded and he jumped.  
  
"Come in." Trip called out.  
  
The door opened and Malcolm Reed entered. Trip's shoulders relaxed at the sight of the armory officer.   
  
"Am I disturbing your meal?" Reed asked, apologetically.  
  
"Naw," Trip shook his head, wiping his mouth on his napkin. "I'm done."  
  
Malcolm moved to the desk and sat down in another chair next to Trip.  
  
"How are you feeling?" Reed asked, glancing at the other man's back.  
  
"Sore." Trip told him. "Doc says I'm off duty for a few more days."  
  
"He explained everything to you?" Reed asked.  
  
"Yeah," Trip replied, getting up and stiffly moving to his bed. He flopped down on his side.   
  
"It wasn't your fault, nor the captain's." Reed insisted. "You both are not responsible."  
  
"I guess." Trip said, grabbing his extra pillow and hugging it tightly.  
  
Malcolm got up and moved to sit beside his friend on the bed. "You guess?"  
  
"I can't help it." Trip told him. "Thinkin' that part of our real feelin's were in there somewhere."  
  
"Nonsense." Reed admonished. "I don't believe that for one minute and neither should you."  
  
"Said I can't help it." Trip said, his eyes misting over. He hugged the pillow tighter.  
  
"You look up to him, Trip. For pity's sake, he's your damn idol." Malcolm stressed, blowing out a ragged breath.  
  
"I know..." Trip's voice cracked. "But what if..."  
  
"Shut up!" Malcolm hollered now. "Don't even say it. It's not true. Good Lord, man, he loves you more than even he knows and vice versa!"  
  
Malcolm's vision began to cloud up as he stared down at Trip. He brushed the back of his hand over his eyes. When he looked back down at Trip, the other man was staring up at him with tears streaming down his face.  
  
"Have you let yourself go about this, yet?" Malcolm asked softly.  
  
Trip hadn't allowed himself the luxury of breaking down about what had happened to him at the hands of the man he thought of as family. He just shook his head back and forth.  
  
"Do you want me to go, then?" Malcolm asked.  
  
Trip swallowed hard and sucked in a halting breath. Again he shook his head back and forth.  
  
Malcolm Reed put his arm around Trip's waist, resting his hand on the bed. He could hear the sob start deep within Trip and felt his body begin to tremble. Malcolm moved his body closer.   
  
Trip buried his face into the pillow and let himself go. He cried so hard that his whole body shook. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried like this. But he wasn't going to hold back. He needed to let it out so he could start to heal inside. And Malcolm was the second closest person he had on this ship, so it was only fitting that he be there since this was all about the first person. The man who, in the past, had always been there to protect him. The same man who welded a cord and whipped him like a wild beast.   
  
Malcolm braced himself against Trip tighter with each violent jerking movement of the blond man's body.   
  
"That's it." Malcolm whispered, soothingly. "You'll feel much better afterwards, my friend."  
  
Trip heard Malcolm, but he wasn't so sure that was true. It felt good now, but he doubted he would feel better until he could see Jon, face to face, and know if there was anything left of their friendship to use to begin rebuilding it back to where it was.   
  
----------  
  
Jonathan Archer splashed cold water in his face. He looked up at himself in the mirror and saw his bloodshot eyes, the puffiness around them pronounced. He had been crying for nearly an hour now, off and on. He couldn't help it. What he had done to the best friend he had ever had in his life was unforgiveable. His guilt and remorse were consuming him from the inside of his gut.  
  
The chime sounded and there was a reverent pause. Jon came out of the bathroom, wiping his face on a towel. He sat at his desk and pretended to be busy on his terminal.  
  
"Come." Archer finally said.  
  
T'Pol entered and saw the uneaten dinner resting on the desk beside the captain. He was going over reports on his computer.  
  
"The shift was uneventful, Captain." T'Pol assured him. "The repairs are progressing at an alarming rate. The team has worked hard and results are evident."  
  
"That's good." Archer replied.   
  
"Doctor Phlox said he spoke with you today." T'Pol said.  
  
"He did." The captain affirmed. "Doesn't make me feel any better about what happened."  
  
"Did he also tell you of the Trelons?" She pressed.  
  
"Yes," Archer told her. "I'm not going to off myself, if that's what you're afraid of."  
  
"Captain," T'Pol began, but was cut off.  
  
"Look, T'Pol," Archer raised his voice. "If I'm not under house arrest anymore, I think there are matters I need to tend to."  
  
"You have been cleared by the doctor." T'Pol said. "He believes you are not under the influence any longer."  
  
"Then I need to go." Archer rose and turned.  
  
T'Pol, for the first time, saw his eyes. She was taken back by the fact that he had been obviously crying before she arrived. Grief was a strong emotion. Strong enough to take down a man like Jonathan Archer.  
  
"Do you wish company?" T'Pol asked.  
  
Archer thought about that for a split second, then shook his head. "No," he decided. "I have to do this alone. Thank you, though."  
  
She nodded and followed her captain out into the corridor. He took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders and headed off. T'Pol watched him go thinking he was brave beyond belief. Even after just succumbing to the emotions that consumed him, he was not going to let that stop him from trying to right a wrong with the man he considered his best friend. But how long could he hold up?  
  
T'Pol turned and proceeded in the other direction, wondering if both men were strong enough to face their fears...and each other.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED  
  
---------- 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7-  
  
Malcolm sat in Trip's quarters, looking at the computer screen that held the duty roster for engineering for the next two weeks. He shook his head envisioning Trip working the schedules out while he ate his dinner. He glanced away and his eyes set on the picture lying face down on the bedshelf. He knew what picture it was, since he had seen it several times before. It was the picture of Trip and Captain Archer right after Trip made commander. With arms around each other they both smiled from ear to ear. That picture, which he surmised had been a source of comfort to Trip in the past, was now only a painful reminder of the friendship that had been stretched to the limits.  
  
The chime shook Reed out of his thoughts and he looked toward the door instinctively. He redirected his attention to the closed bathroom door, but when Trip didn't emerge he got up and pressed the panel.   
  
Archer was stunned to see Reed on the other side of the door. From the lieutenant's expression the reaction was shared.  
  
"Malcolm," Archer nodded.  
  
"Captain," Reed returned the nod. "He's in the lavatory."   
  
"I'll wait out here if you'll go ask if he'll see me." Archer said.  
  
"Malcolm?" Trip's voice called out from inside the room.  
  
Malcolm turned and saw Trip standing in the bathroom doorway.  
  
"It's the captain." Reed told Trip.  
  
Trip's eyes widened and he took a deep breath. "Oh." Trip whispered. "Let 'im in."  
  
Reed stepped aside and Archer entered. Trip shut off the bathroom light but leaned in the doorway, his body tensing.  
  
"I'll be going then?" Malcolm looked toward Tucker.  
  
Trip stared at Jon, who's eyes had fixed on him right from the instant he could see him. Trip nodded to Malcolm, who quietly slipped out of the room.  
  
Jon broke the gaze and turned his attention to Trip's computer. He walked over to the desk, slowly, and noticed Trip move farther away.  
  
"Phlox still hasn't released you for duty, yet." Jon said.  
  
"I know, I just was sittin' 'round and got bored." Trip said. "I didn't exert myself any. Just figurin' out the schedule for the next couple of weeks."  
  
Jon hung his head, then raised it and turned around quickly. "I'm sorry, Trip."  
  
"Cap'n ya don't have ta..."  
  
"No, no." Jon cut him off. "This is all off the record. Don't call me captain or sir. Hell, I don't deserve it right now, anyhow."  
  
"Doc said it was some kinda emotion reverser." Trip rolled his eyes. "Said what we were feelin' was the opposite...Well, ya know. Whatever that means."   
  
"The complete opposite, Trip." Jon corrected. "And to the extreme."  
  
There was pause as Trip moved to his bed. Jon stood his ground and when Trip passed by he finally saw the marks on the younger man's back that he had put there. He closed his eyes and felt his stomach turn.  
  
Trip carefully stretched out, on his side, on the bed. He propped his head up by one hand and with the other motioned for Jon to sit, which he did.  
  
"I--I don't know what else to say." Jon stammered. "I'm sorry's all I can think of right now. And I know it's not much."  
  
"I didn't mean what I said in the gym last night. I don't hate you." Trip said in a hushed voice.  
  
"No, not now, I hope." Jon replied. "But you did then. Hell, you had every right to. I'd just told you I was going to...hurt you."  
  
"No, not you!" Trip raised his voice and sat up, causing him to tense his back and bite his lower lip.  
  
"Trip." Jon leaned forward in his seat.   
  
"It wasn't you." Trip shook his head. "It was that damn spice."  
  
"It was me," Jon stressed. "In that it was my hands."  
  
"And it was my mouth that said all those things about ya not bein' fit for command..." Trip couldn't finish. He drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them burying his head.  
  
Jon got up, cautiously walking to the bed. He sat down and, without thinking, placed his hand on Trip's arm. Trip flinched and then relaxed in resignation.  
  
"If I could take it back," Jon's strained voice forced out. "God knows I would. But I can't. And don't you think I've been going over it in my mind all day? Wondering why the hell I didn't stop myself?"  
  
"You couldn't anymore than I could stop what I was sayin' and feelin' about you." Trip mumbled. "I know that."  
  
"But it doesn't make it any easier to take, does it?" Jon asked, now scooting back on the bed to get a good look at Trip's back. "I won't ask for your forgiveness, Trip. Because that would require your complete trust in me again, as a friend. And I don't even know if that's possible."   
  
There was an uneasy pause as Jon stared at the floor. Trip said nothing and remained perfectly still. Jon was hoping for some sign, at least in body language, to let him know there was a chance to get his best friend back.  
  
"I keep wonderin'." Trip sighed. "What if a little bit of what we were feelin' was in there, somewhere? Ya know, magnified or distorted as it mighta been."  
  
"I've thought that, too." Jon admitted. "But I don't really believe that. I can't."  
  
Trip nodded, having come to that conclusion already. He just needed to hear it out loud from Jon for reinforcement. "So, what do we do now?" Trip asked, still leaning his forehead on his knees.  
  
"We need to clear the air between us." Jon told him. "And we have to be perfectly honest with one another."  
  
"We always have been." Trip lifted his head now. "I mean, maybe we didn't always say everythin', but we never lied to each other."  
  
"I know. That's why I need to tell you this." Jon clasped his hands together nervously. "I never, ever, not for one second, have regretted you being on this mission. This ship needs you and the crew needs your unique outlook on things."  
  
"For a tight-lipped Brit, Malcolm's got a big mouth." Trip said in surprise.  
  
"He was just being a friend, Trip." Jon said. "More than what I've shown you in the last few days. But in the past, I know that, at times, I tended to be protective when it came to you." Jon continued. "But that's got nothing to do with your abilities as chief engineer or your abilities as a leader. It's me."  
  
"I always try to do my best. Always have in everythin' I've ever done." Trip lowered himself back onto his side and placed his head on his pillow. "But, when you're 'round, I also wanna do my best for you. So you're proud of me. 'cept all I end up doin' is messin' up somehow."  
  
"It's not because of you, Trip. The things that have happened to you are just chance. They could have happened to anyone."  
  
"Yeah? Anyone didn't get knocked up by playin' some alien pebbles' game, or nearly freak out from bein' invaded by a slime creature!"  
  
"Trip, don't do this." Jon warned. "You're a very intense person. You're a reactor. I know that and that's what makes you the best damned chief engineer I know. But, it's also why you get consumed by anxiety in certain instances."  
  
"And you've always been there to talk me through." Trip looked up at Jon. "So, what happens when you're not there? Maybe I'm the one not fit for any kinda command."  
  
Jon realized that Trip was doubting himself. But was he doubting his ability to be in control because of the emotion reverser, the whipping, or had it always been there?   
  
"You know better than that." Jon said carefully, sliding off of the bed and kneeling next to it.  
  
"Do I?" Trip asked, drawing his legs up to his chest. "What if I didn't stop ya 'cuz I was just plain scared of ya? I was backed into a corner and I gave into my fear. What if those were deep rooted emotions, Jon? Yours and mine?" Trip asked, his eyes filling with tears.   
  
"I get a little angry when you smart mouth me in front of the crew, I'll admit." Jon told him. "Subtle though it may be."  
  
"And I get mad when you patronize me in front of the others." Trip admitted. "Warranted as it may be." Trip sniffed back a sob. "See what I mean?"  
  
"No," Jon shook his head. "You're reading it all wrong, Trip. Good Lord, do you believe, even a little, that I wanted to hurt you like that?" The brief silence that followed made Jon very uneasy.  
  
"Not anymore." Trip finally said. "Do ya think I really meant any of those things I said?"  
  
Jon sighed. "I did, but not now."  
  
"You know all the times I've been smart-mouthed, I never meant no disrespect." Trip stretched out now, feeling a little more secure. "But I promise I'll watch it. 'Cuz I really respect the hell outta ya. Ya gotta believe me, Jon."  
  
"I do." Jon replied. "And you've got to know how much I..." He looked away, trying to remain controlled. "How much I care about you. You're the only family I've got..."  
  
Jon's voice broke and he leaned back on his knees. Trip watched Jon, not moving to console him. He didn't really know what to do since he'd never seen Jon this overcome with emotion. And to know that the emotion was because of himself made Trip uncomfortable. Also, there was the hurt deep inside of him that didn't want to let Jon off the hook so easily. It may not be right, Trip thought, but it's how he felt. He was now seeing just how much Jon felt about him. This was territory they had never explored. He wondered if their friendship could be a continuing detriment to them on this mission.  
  
"What if ya have to send me out to my possible death one time and I don't make it?" Trip blurted out. Jon's head snapped up and his watery eyes glared back at Trip. "I have no doubts that ya could, if the situation were critical. And I have no doubts that I would go. But, what about afterwards? How would you handle that?"  
  
"Damn." Jon cursed. Here it was. This was where they ended up. Having to profess their deepest emotions and then confront them. He thought just facing Trip after what he'd done to him was the hardest thing he had ever done.  
  
"I know, I know," Trip continued. "It's all part of the job and we know it..."  
  
"I don't know." Jon quietly replied.   
  
"What?"  
  
"I honestly don't know how I would handle that." Jon thoughtfully said. "Probably not very well. At first, anyway. But I'd know that you died doing what you loved doing. That you took your job just as seriously as I do."  
  
Trip sat up and Jon stared at him, unsure of what he would say.  
  
"And you'd be right." Trip said with conviction while feeling a strength he could only attribute to the man before him. "And you'd know that I wouldn't want ya to blame yourself. Just 'cuz of all that. It was my choice to join Starfleet, my choice to do this."  
  
Jon nodded in agreement. "Case closed?"  
  
"Not yet." Trip said, scooting to sit at the side of the bed. "Can I get a hug here?"  
  
A smile, much welcome to Trip and much needed for Jon, tugged at the corner of the older man's mouth. He pulled up on his knees and met Trip half way into a warm and firm bear hug. Jon wrapped his arms around Trip's waist and Trip wrapped his tightly around Jon's back.  
  
"So, are we on our way to being okay here?" Jon asked.  
  
"It hurts, Jon." Trip's voice wavered. "Not just physically. It hurts still, but I don't blame ya. It's just gonna take time, okay?"  
  
"Okay." Jon tried to pull away, but Trip still hung on.   
  
When Trip finally released his grip, Jon stood up and Trip followed his lead rising to his feet.   
"Call me if you need anything." Jon told him as they both reached the door.  
  
"I will." Trip replied. "Jon?" Jon stopped and turned to face Trip, his hand on the panel.   
  
"It's okay, Trip." Jon assured him. "It'll be okay. And one day, maybe we won't even be able to remember ever feeling like that. Good night."  
  
"Night." Trip watched the door close behind Jon. Part of him, a large part, wished that they could have been totally at ease with one another.  
  
He slowly shuffled over to his bed and stared at the turned down photograph. A thoughtful smile replaced the pensive expression on his face and he carefully stood up the picture on the shelf. He and Jon were smiling in a captured moment of happier times, clearly defining a friendship that he knew now could never be erased. It wasn't all good yet. It wouldn't be for a long time, he thought. But at least it was possible to get that way... someday.   
  
THE END  
  
A/N: Thank you for the encouragement and support. Hope you weren't disappointed. I know many of you wanted Trip to knock Jon on his rear, but I don't think he would've at the point they were when they had their meeting. Keep your stories coming and continuing! (Sethoz, you hear me?!) I miss not seeing new chapters and new stories. 


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